


Stiles Stilinski vs January

by Siria



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has a plan to christen their new house, but it goes a little awry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles Stilinski vs January

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amberlynne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberlynne/gifts).



> Thanks to Cate for reading over this for me.

"Oh, such an excellent idea," Stiles said snidely as he crawled back under the comforter and pressed his feet—his freezing cold feet—up against Derek's calves. Only the fact that he'd long since grown used to Stiles' terrible circulation stopped Derek from flinching; as it was, the shock very effectively pulled him out of the half-doze he'd been in. "Let's spend the night here as soon as the house is weather-proof, let's christen it, it'll be _awesome_."

Derek cracked open an eye. In the moonlight that was slanting in through the window, Stiles was a study in shades of grey. "This was all your idea," he pointed out with what he thought was an admirable degree of restraint. "You were the one who got the mattress up here, and the blankets, and I'm pretty sure half of Walgreens' stock of lube."

"Yeah," Stiles said, burrowing closer, "and it was a terrible idea, you're supposed to be the one who says _Stiles, this is a terrible idea, no_ , in this relationship. I mean, not about the lube, that's just the gift that keeps on giving, yay for the prostate, but the bit where I said hey, let's move into a partially-finished house in northern California in January and christen all the rooms before the rest of the pack shows up. The fundamentals of the plan are strong but the details, oh, the details. Why didn't you rein in my foolhardiness, Derek? Why?"

Derek sighed. "Stiles—"

"I mean, I get it, you were distracted by the prospects of getting all up on this, that happens—"

Derek rolled his eyes. 

"—and the romance of it all, because you have a secret marshmallow fluff heart. But let's face it, if we end up having sex in the living room right now I'm going to end up with splinters in my ass, and man was not meant to live in a house without central air or working chimneys. Ugh, it's cold." Stiles shivered and then wrapped himself, octopus-style, right around Derek. 

"You went to college in New York," Derek reminded him. For a moment he considered pushing back against the tight hold that Stiles had on him, but then realised that the only person he'd be fooling was himself. Derek tucked his face into the curve of Stiles' neck, where his pulse was reassuringly loud and steady and he smelled like soap and faded aftershave. "You've been through a lot worse than this."

Derek knew that was true. They'd only gotten together during Stiles' last year of undergrad, so Derek was sure he'd been blissfully ignorant of the worse of it, but the series of picture messages Stiles had sent him while he was working on his master's degree had been eyebrow-raising enough. Werewolves were able to deal with extremes of temperature much better than humans, but even Derek had shivered to see what Stiles had gotten up to during the last big blizzard to hit the city during his time there. 

"Yeah, but 41 in California is the same as 5 in New York," Stiles said. "That's just science."

"You're terrible at science," Derek mumbled, closing his eyes again. The new house was solidly built and well-insulated—Cora, now an environmental studies major at a particularly crunchy liberal arts college would never have forgiven Derek if he'd rebuilt to anything other than the most exacting green standards—but if he listened carefully, beyond the lulling thud of Stiles' heart, he could still hear the wind pushing through the bare branches of the trees out in the Preserve. 

"That is a slander, good sir," Stiles said. He'd worked his hands up beneath Derek's t-shirt and was tracing, unerring, the line of Derek's tattoo. "I know all about matters scientific. You want to know about black holes? Heirloom plant conservation? Electrolumiscence? I can cater to all of your science-specific needs with facts gleaned from the finest of Wikipedia pages." 

"Fine," Derek said, shifting to give Stiles better access. He liked it when Stiles touched him there. "Then you're just terrible at logistics."

"Hey, not only did I bring lube _and_ sandwiches," Stiles said, kicking half-heartedly at Derek's leg, "I also brought Scrabble, two thermoses of coffee and that dildo you really like. Fuck you, whatever about the cold, my logistics are awesome."

Derek sighed. "Stiles. You have magic."

"Yes?" Stiles said slowly. "We've all been aware of that since my high school graduation and the unfortunate incident with the—oh. Oh, you mean that I could just heat the room myself, huh."

"All those scholarships for academic brilliance," Derek said, "and yet."

"I don't do my best thinking in the cold," Stiles said. "I'm a delicate Californian flower."

Derek snorted, and then felt his ears pop—the familiar sensation that came from being in close proximity to Stiles when he worked magic. 

The temperature in the room rose perceptibly, and Stiles let out a happy little moan. "Oh, thank god. I can feel the tip of my nose again."

"You're welcome," Derek said, tugging the comforter up a little higher over them. "Now can we go to sleep? Some of us have work in the morning."

"Excuse you," Stiles said, "sleeping is what I've been trying to do all along. It's not my fault I'm engaged to a werewolf with zero body fat who needs me around to keep him warm. These are the hidden perils of—"

Kissing Stiles never shut him up, exactly, but it did at least derail his train of thought in a pretty gratifying manner. Derek didn't think he'd ever grow tired of being the sole focus of Stiles Stilinski's attention, didn't think he'd ever get used to the way Stiles' breathing hitched when Derek trailed his fingers up Stiles' side or when Derek bit gently at Stiles' lower lip. Derek imagined the smell of their contentment slowly spreading out to fill up the room, just like the heat of Stiles' magic. When the kiss finally faded away, Derek pulled back a little to see that Stiles was smiling at him—the kind of smile that still made Derek feel dizzily, desperately lucky. 

"Happy January," Stiles said against Derek's mouth. 

"I'm glad you're home with me," Derek said, and when he finally fell asleep, he was warm the whole way through.


End file.
